Gemotions

The old, wooden box sat heavy on Amelia’s kitchen table. Her neighbour had found it in his basement, and it had somehow ended up in her possession. Inside was a collection of carefully selected things. A mix of old toys, a letter to her future self, and a pressed flower.

She ran her thumb over the yellowed petals, a faint perfume of dry, summery sweetness releasing. A lump formed in her throat. The letter, penned in a childish scrawl, asked if she'd found love, achieved her dreams, and if she still loved playing in the woods. Her heart clenched, the question a sudden, unwanted punch to the gut. The world seemed to shrink around her.

She had to sit down, sinking into the chair, the box suddenly a burden of recollections. All the things she was supposed to do, all the things she had forgotten.